Let's Count Our Scars
by sulli-ssi
Summary: He is asleep and she begins to trace his scars, remembering...regretting. And he doesn't have to say anything for her to know - (blatant IchiRuki/very, very anti-IchiHime)


**Let's Count Our Scars**

It wasn't the sex that made Rukia shy away from him during its aftermath. She wants to cuddle up to him and be surrounded by his warmth…his _there_-ness which she had been deprived for seventeen months. She counted the days until she could at least see him again. She thought that he'd be happier, when she saw him, but the image of him howling and crying on his knees would not leave her. It wouldn't _go away_, even if she'd allowed him to touch her and she touched back, just to know that they were both _there_. Security, she thinks.

God, she loves him.

But still, she trembles as she sits on the edge of the bed, shinigami uniform splayed out on the floor – both his and hers. Her lieutenant badge is probably under the bed, but she can't pick herself up just yet. She shivers as she remembers where he touched her. She didn't know that she wanted it…didn't know that she wanted him for something else other than companionship and friendship. But that feeling of loss and emptiness during those seventeen months gnaw at her still, and she knows that she can't go through that again – _won't_ do it willingly. She had unknowingly given her heart to him; she is still unsure exactly when, but she did, and there's no taking it back without inflicting pain on both of them.

He is asleep.

Her fingers lose themselves in his orange locks; they tickle her a little. His face is more serene, more relaxed.

He is beautiful.

She begins to trace his scars.

Slowly. _Slowly_.

His heart thrums under her exploring hands as she begins to feel that scar that started it all. She caused that…and a million more, littered along his chest and on his arms. All of it…she knows they are all her fault, directly or indirectly. She came into his life and practically ruined it in one night, no matter what he says. They are all there, in varying degrees – light, deep…prominent, near-invisible. There are also the scars that he carries that Inoue cannot heal; the scars of war, and, the biggest scar of them all, carrying that Hollow that he despises so much and that he cannot be rid of. He obtained that, too, from trying to save her, even when she didn't ask for it, the stupid fool –

"You know, if you wanted to go again, you could've just said so." His smile is easy, but she cannot meet his eyes. She has bigger scars – worse ones that have marred her body beyond repair; his scars are his trophies because he is a man, but her scars are just…terrible imperfections. What did Ichigo think of, just to distract himself from seeing her ugly, deformed body?

Maybe Inoue, she thinks, and a burst of unexpected, blinding hurt stabs her straight in the heart. Because Inoue is nice, and pretty, and so goddamn kind and pure that it hurts. Because Inoue can _smile_ so easily (Ichigo told her once that Rukia's smile makes him happy, so by default, does that mean that he likes seeing other people smile, too?), while Rukia cannot smile if she's not happy, and happiness doesn't come easy, not for her. Because Inoue is normal (if you don't count the Shun Shun Rikka), and so annoyingly _human_. Ichigo deserves that, doesn't he? Normality, peace, happiness…gentleness.

"I'm sorry," she finds herself saying, somewhat choked by emotions she cannot name. She begins to stand, but her wrist is caught by him, and she finds herself being thrown back into bed, straight into his arms. She struggles. "Let go of me! Let go –!"

His lips connect with hers, and her body automatically stiffens with shock. He pulls away before she can kiss back. "What are you sorry for?"

His chocolate eyes bore into hers, and she has to look away, for her own sake. "Everything."

She doesn't miss his frown. "What, like you regret…?"

"No!" she answers, all too quickly, too forcefully. She settles into his arms, finally shimmies and wiggles her way around so that she is hugging him comfortably, setting her cheek against his warm chest. "I'm sorry for…for giving you these." She pokes one of his scars – the one that Byakuya inflected, the one that almost killed him that night when she turned around and left him, bleeding on the cold, wet asphalt. The memory assaults her with the strength of a jumping bullet, but she dodges it before it engulfs her. "Idiot."

"You're the idiot," he retaliates easily, while tracing that big scar around her right shoulder. It is jagged and white, bumpy and so fucking ugly that she refuses to look at that particular spot on her body when she stands in front of a mirror. She knows how it looks like – as if someone ran an lightning around her shoulder, dipping well into her back. "You have scars, too."

She flinches. "Sorry…" she mutters. Why is she apologising so much? It's _Ichigo_, for Christ's sake –

"I didn't mean it that way," he tells her, trying to reassure her. He stops doing that thing for that particular scar, and uses his other hand to trace the jagged, white indentations on her midriff – three gruesome holes, with the middle a bit bigger than the others. "I should be the one who's sorry…"

She can hear the words that he's trying to say. That the scar on her right shoulder never healed right, because Inoue wasn't around yet when she saved his family that first time. That the scars on her midriff are there, not because of Inoue's incapability to make them disappear, but because they are just too severe to just fade. That the others littering her body were caused by her own incompetency. That the little ones around her arms were because of that hollow – Screamer, was it?

She kisses him, now, before giving him a small smile. "We deserve each other, huh?" It is a question, because she is not sure. She doesn't want to assume. It's not…safe…to just think these things –

"Of course we do," he answers, solid and sure. "Don't go weak on me again, Rukia. It doesn't suit you."

And her smile becomes true and pure. And it doesn't matter that Inoue smiles more, because at least when Rukia does it, it isn't forced or out of habit. It doesn't matter that Inoue is so much better in more ways than one, because Ichigo sees past that, and Rukia loves him for it. It doesn't matter that there are other girls out there that are less jagged around the edges, because those edges fit right into his. It doesn't matter that she isn't gentle all the time with him, because what is gentility to a man with a dark side who needs someone to kick his ass right back to him? It doesn't matter that she isn't human, that she's older, that she's smaller…that she's so goddamn different, because, hell, Ichigo is different, too.

They count scars with their kisses and, right then, Rukia imagines that they are fading.

**A/N**: I like writing a jealous Rukia. So fun, fun, fun. It's like I'm highlighting all the reasons why IchiHime can't possibly exist. And yes, I know I should be working on my other fics, but alas, WRITER'S BLOCK STRIKES AGAIN. Also, I am being constantly swamped with school work. (Never take Chem and Bio and two Maths subjects together. EVER.)


End file.
